My Newton's Law
by KHwhitelion
Summary: Wikus Van de Merwe wasn't the only human being to be successfully combined with alien genetics. But he WAS the only one to survive. Who else, then, was subject to such a horrifying mutation? Rated for violent images and language.


**I said this in the description, but I'm going to re-emphasize it: "DISTRICT 9" SPOILERS AHEAD! If you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend you don't read this!**

**That aside, this is rated for violence—graphic (I think) images, and one use of the 'F' word.**

**I don't really know why I wrote this. I just….I don't know. I LOVE the move District 9, even though it just came out….and a quote in that movie made me think: if Wikis was the only one who survived being combined with alien DNA….that must have meant there were others as well, right?**

**Well, I think you see where I'm going with this….so enjoy!**

**One last thing: I MAY write a follow up explaining this further....but I'm not sure. If you read it, and are interested, please let me know! Enough reviews, and who knows!  
**

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I used to be able to joke about everything always happening to me. Getting appendicitis on thanksgiving, living in a tent….even having an illegitimate child with a girlfriend I'd only dated twice. I could laugh at it all, no matter how bad it got. Even during an 'off' day, I just smiled right through it all, because somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that, amongst all the crap tossed my way, there was always an upside. Maybe I _did_ have to spend a thanksgiving at Sacred Heart: at least I wouldn't have to worry about my appendix again. _Yeah_, I lived in a tent at one point: now I've got my own place, and share it with the woman I love. And sure, my son was born out of wedlock—doesn't mean I care about him any less. If anything else, my kid's given my life even more meaning than before.

So, yeah: life had an upside—kinda like one of those Newton's laws my ninth grade science teacher used to drill into our heads: for every action there's an….opposite reaction….or something like that. Whatever the definition, I used what I remembered of the phrase as my motto. My way of life. A guarantee that, whenever fate used me as a punching bag, someone along the way would be there with the world's fastest working first aid kit, and make sure I'd be able to smile my way through it all.

But I….I just can't do it anymore.

Smiling, laughing….seems like nothing more than a distant memory—something someone did a long time ago that I'd only ever heard as a child, and nothing more. And….and the things I had so foolishly dubbed as 'problems' now seemed like such a game played _by_ a child.

Honestly, after _that_ day, everything before was nothing. Easy. _No_ problem at all.

That day….well, I didn't know what lay ahead of me—I was just trying to follow orders; do my job and get out of there swiftly and safely; coming back after a long plane ride to a welcoming home and a specially-prepared meal. There was no way….no way at all I could have seen it coming. I mean, things like that simply _don't_ happen. Not to me….not to anyone….

I stop then—I'd been running for some time—and collapse to the ground, my chest burning in excruciating pain. Bent over, I clenched at the earth, as if somehow, gripping at the dirt with all my strength would make it go away. I took a few long, strained breaths, trying to clear my head and get my act together.

Shit. It was getting worse.

Call me crazy....but I honestly could have—maybe—handled this….sure, I may have been completely horrified with what was happening to me….but before the pain started, it was bearable. Slightly. Very, _very_ slightly.

Ah damn, the breathing isn't working—I think I'm seeing spots—and a sound equivalent to a jackhammer echoes in my ears. Shit! SHIT I can't take this. It's….everything is killing me. Like my veins have been injected with rubbing alcohol. My arms, legs….hell, my entire body….feels as if It's been coated in flesh-gnawing acid.

Ughn….

My eyes close for a moment, hoping to suppress the black patches clouding my vision. But that only brings about sudden dizziness, and my stomach churns in result to the unsettling darkness. Oh shit….I think I'm going to….

I lurch forward, my elbows going weak ,as any and all remnants from my lunch pour from my stomach onto the pavement. After several seconds of vomiting the stuff, I slowly sit back on my knees, my head reeling as I bring a hand to my abdomen. Man, I feel terrible. Everything and anything that could have gone wrong with my life seems to have combined and dumped itself on me. And all within a span of seventy-two hours.

Groaning at the unpleasant taste in my mouth, it irks me slightly when I notice the unexplained coppery tinge that's accompanying it. A terrifying memory surfaces, and with panic slowly rising, I look down at the mess in front of me….my eyes widening when I notice the streaks of red curled within the white chunky liquid. B….Blood….? Oh no. Oh nonononono. Not that.

At some point, my body began shaking, but I don't remember when. At another point, my tongue started feeling the top and bottom rows of my teeth. At a point not too long after, I realized four of them were missing. From my mouth. And were now, on the ground, half-submersed in vomit.

Looking at them, scattered about, I wanted to die right then and there. Four at once. Not just one this time. Four. Four of my damn teeth. On the ground. In my vomit. _Fuck_.

My stomach churned again, this time out of alarm, as I struggled to get on my feet. No matter how much I wanted to, sitting there, letting the numbness overtake me….was just something I could not afford to do. I was running out of time—I knew that—and letting myself rot from the inside out wasn't going to solve anything other than my rapidly rising despair. But I'd never go that way….despite how often the thought crossed my mind.

Staggering down another dark alley—the only real safe way to travel in my….condition—pieces of the last three days kept flickering in front of my eyes….almost like a movie screen. _Dammit, maybe I _am_ crazy_. It's not unlikely. Hell, it was supposed to be easy enough! I'd had the proper training required for the program, and Mantoots said it'd be a great experience. You go in, set up "office," and one by one they come in for examination. To "make sure they weren't going to spread any unwanted diseases in the new district" as they'd put it. Ha. Have _they_ tried examining one of them?! It's not easy. The physiological make up is distinctly different than what I was used to; training or not. I didn't even get through the first twenty when a….skirmish….I suppose is the best word broke out between some of them, and the soldiers. Turns out a few of them had yet to be evicted—which I didn't know at the time. Caused quite a riot amongst my temporary patients.

One of them almost took my head off. If it hadn't been for Dr. Cox, that is. Pulled me outta there and took control of the situation. Told me to stay put.

….why the _hell_ didn't I listen to him?

I think….I think I was mad at him for stealing my spotlight—I had planned on using this whole 'process' to rub in his face when I got back. I mean, it's not like we really kept in touch after I transferred, and when we did see each other, we certainly didn't discuss work. So of course, having been at St. Vincent's for over a year, I had no idea Dr. Cox had opted to go.

I have to stop again, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Whenever my chest rose or fell, invisible daggers struck my lungs. _Come on…._my inner voice tried, _you're almost there_. Oh shut up. I can't….think right now! It hurts. It hurts too much….

That same pounding in my head returns; each pulse bringing about another flashback. How….annoyed at his "heroics" I'd hustled out of the tent, heading towards who knows where, the only thought buzzing in my head was how he was only supervising the whole examination process, and therefore had no damn idea what he was doing in the first place by putting me on the sidelines. I don't know why I was so infuriated….it was probably the heat, screwing with my thought process. It must have been that….because there's no way I'd ever had ended up in the midst of a fight if I'd been in my right mind.

My throbbing head continued to get worse, and it was becoming harder to see. Frantically, I rubbed my eyes, but stopped just as quickly when they started to sting. A sickening feeling in my stomach now—and _not_ one of the physical nature—I looked down at my hands.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Scattered about the surface of each appendage were clusters of glossy, green-black…._scales_. At least, they looked like scales….but I didn't know. I didn't _care_. I was far too freaked out at this point to process anything past the fact that whatever they were, they were _not_ supposed to be there.

I got scared then. _Really _scared; my worst fear was finally confirmed. I was changing. Into something…._else_. Something inhuman. And I didn't know why or how….or even if I could stop it….

"N-no…." I croaked, vision blurring as tears formed in my eyes. Why me? Why….why did everything always happen to me? I didn't want this. I never wanted this! Even with all the other pitfalls I've encountered….I'd never wish to….to….

My thoughts blank: all I can focus on is the swell of contorted emotions now threatening to explode my chest. This is too much. I….I can't handle this….

I choke, the tears escaping and rolling down my cheek drop by drop. I knew I was breaking down, losing control….but I just….I just didn't give a damn anymore. I was scared shitless: I hadn't prepared for….hell….there's no disease like this in South Africa!! People don't….cut themselves when preparing dinner, and notice that, instead of another layer of their own flesh underneath, there's….there's this…..alien….blackish yellow skin….instead. Prehistoric-looking spikes don't poke their way through your back, tearing your clothing to shreds, and there's not a damn thing you can do!

So where the hell did this come from?!

Again, I come to a halt, leaning up against the side of a building. _Dammit, if you keep this up, you'll never make it in time!_ The voice in my head cautions; as if I wasn't already aware of my current state. Some help it's turned out to be….

Eventually, I force myself to stop crying. I'd like to say it was out of some spectacular resolve not to give up….but in reality, every sob sent a stab of agony shooting through my chest. Almost knocked the wind out of me a few times.

Purposely avoiding them from view, my right hand clutched at the pained area—the other, gripping at the bricked wall like a cat. Bile gathered in my throat, but I swallowed it down, trying desperately not to hurl at the sickening sensation of yet another finger nail detaching itself from my finger and landing at my feet. Droplets of blood followed suite; decorating the ground in vibrant crimson splotches—escalating into pools as the flow of blood increased from my finger. Still dazed, I stood there, letting the liquid trickle down my hand and towards my arm, like a deer caught in the headlights. Wasn't until I noticed the entirety of my sleeve was soaked scarlet did it register that if I'd continued the way I was—half aware, half-wallowing in misery—I could probably die of blood loss.

I'm not entirely sure how, but faced with the prospect of dying like that….with my life literally seeping out of my body….gave me the kind of invisible kick I needed. Tearing a strip of fabric from what remained of my shirt, I wrapped it as tightly as I could around my finger, blinked a few times to clear my head, and continued on my way; hoping the blood would clot before I passed out. Or….

_No!_ That same voice protests, pushing the thought from my mind. I'd get there in time….I _had_ to….there was no other option for me if I didn't.

Nowhere else I could go.

No one else I could turn to.

Actually, I had no idea if even going there was a good idea: it's not like he would know anymore than I already did. The only thing I knew for sure, was that he'd find a way to handle this….this whole thing better than I was. He always did.

Provided he decides to help me at all. Despite choosing to hospitalize me after I'd spent the entire plane ride home locked in the bathroom, we weren't exactly on the best of terms. I said I'd been mad at him earlier and that was true. However, it wasn't until I returned to the tent that _he_ lost his temper. Going off about "almost getting my sorry ass killed" and whatnot. Like I was really that stupid. Okay, sure, stepping into a fight between a soldier and a….prawn—I hate that name; feels so….barbaric—probably wasn't the best thing to do….but neither was going head to head like they were. That kinda thing only made the relocation process harder.

So of course, I had the bright idea to try to break them up.

There's no other way to describe the whole experience other than….well….a bad idea. Not necessarily _stupid_….but it was certainly something I'd never want to repeat. Ever. The p….prawns are a lot stronger than they look. So are the soldiers. A lot stronger. And meaner. Especially meaner. I was only trying to prevent further trouble. There was no need for things to get—

"_AGH_!" A sharp burst of pain attacks my chest, sending me to my knees; doubling over in utter anguish. Teeth gritting together hard, my eyes water; tears burning the base of my pupils as my head hits the concrete. I can't move. I can't breathe. It hurts….it hurts too damn much….

An abrupt buildup in my throats makes me wonder if I'm going to vomit again, but instead, I cough—a harsh, hacking sound that shakes me entire being. As if I weren't in enough pain already. With effort, I raise my head, tears escaping my eyes each time a cough erupts from my mouth, each one hitting my already abused lungs like a bullet. _Why….?_ I asked myself, voice of reason vanished, _Why couldn't I have just _died_ by now?! End this….this nightmare of a situ—_

The coppery tinge in my mouth returns, ending my previous train of thought. Without realizing in, I had started coughing up blood. Shit….maybe I _was_ dying.

Dying….you'd think after working for so long in a place where death was always lurking around the corner, I'd be used to it. But….

The scarlet-tinged ground suddenly puts an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. My own blood or not, I tear my eyes away from it, looking for somewhere…._anywhere_ else I can look that won't….

Hold on….right there….about twenty feet or so from me….is that….?

For the first time in three days, hope flickers in my heart. Even through blurred vision, I know where I am.

Where I'd been trying to go the whole time.

Right there.

Right outside his apartment.

Ignoring my lurching stomach, I carefully stand up; the throbbing in my head returning as I again press onward. The world around me is heavily distorted….but now that I'm so close….I can't….I can't afford to stop now.

If I do, there's no guarantee I'll be able to get back up.

As I near the apartment building, my thoughts drift back to the ninth grade….and the law I had adapted as my motto: "_For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction_."

It was ironic, really. Even now, coughing up blood and vomiting out teeth….that damned law still applies to my life. Except this time around, it's the opposite. I just wanted to help; that's why I signed up to go there the first place. That's why I tried to stop the fight. And _now_ look at me. I don't even know who I am anymore. Much less _what_.

Yeah, I know….he'd probably be laughing right now if he heard that. Coming from someone like me, no less. At least….he _would_ have….but he knew everything I'd been through and given my….condition….I'm sure he'd….

Scratch that.

There _was_ one thing I forgot to tell him. Well, more like chose not to, but I didn't really deem it of any importance.

See, the fight I tried to break up seemed to be about a piece of alien technology that the prawn had in his….her….?....possession. I guess they weren't allowed to have anything that could potentially be used against humanity or something—I don't really know. However, I didn't think it was really worth fighting over, so I tried to pull it out of their hands—both were locked in a tug of war battle at this point—and long story short, the damn thing broke when I attempted to grab it, and the liquid inside it sprayed me in the face. It wasn't anything that severe—sure, I couldn't see for several seconds—but other than that, nothing happened. It was broken, anyway, so I didn't see the point in telling Dr. Cox.

Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. I dunno. I may have been the one actually examining the prawns….but as a supervisor, maybe he knew some things that I didn't. Still….alien or not, getting sprayed by that thing wasn't such a big deal….was it? Probably a type of extraterrestrial oil or something….

I think I'm inside now; the switch from darkness to a sudden dimmed lighting seems to signify that…. and now I'm fighting my way towards the elevator….my last stop before I reach his apartment. Taking the stairs would have probably been a better option—less chance of being seen—but, in the infamous words of Clark Gable: "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." I can barely see, my head is pounding, and if I _do_ take the stairs, I know I'll collapse before I ever reach my destination. Hence why I'm standing—haphazardly—at the elevator; ignoring the occasional gasp or murmur coming from strangers as they pass by. It doesn't matter. None of them know me—I'm rarely allowed to visit him so I highly doubt anyone here will recognize my face.

I just need to stay conscious long enough to let him know what's happened since we last saw each other. Two days ago….that seems right….after he came to check up on me. Said he had to go to work, but' d be back later to see how I was doing. Just before some guys in military uniforms showed up and tried to take me away….

But….but would he even believe me, I wonder? I always _did_ have a wild imagination.

That's ridiculous. Of course he would. He….that last day….he said I was his friend….a "damn exceptional person…." And though we never got along one hundred percent, I knew he meant it. _That_, and I looked like something out of a horror film….he _had_ to believe me. I just hope I still looked something like the John Dorian he went to South Africa with…..haven't taken a good look in the mirror for a long….long….

The lightheadedness returns, and I stumble—my ankle twinging while I reach blindly for the door. Come on….you're here….you're right here….just….just make a fist….and….

With the strength I've got left, I hit the door a good five times, to make sure he could hear…..Oh shit…what—what if someone else answered? Like, Jack? Or Jordan? Or what if he….

The surface beneath my hand vanishes, and losing my balance again I fall….surprisingly into the chest of the one man I'd been wanting to see. My doctor….My mentor…..my friend….

"N-Newbie?" The familiar voice echoes in my ears, leading my eyes upward to rest on his hazy expression.

"P….Perry…." I manage, struggling with the word "….h….help….me…."

That's all I manage to say. I'm too tired. Too weak. And in far too much pain to fight this any longer. The world swerves in a dizzying spiral, my knees buckle, and then everything fades to black.

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"_Wikus Van de Merwe….was the only human being __to be successfully ____combined with alien genetics __and remain alive." _


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